


Unequal Halves of the Same Whole

by Hollenka99



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Blood, Blood and Injury, Canonical Character Death, Character Turned Into a Ghost, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 22:46:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29908212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hollenka99/pseuds/Hollenka99
Summary: After he dies, part of Wilbur refuses to accept how his story ended. As a result, his soul splits, leaving one in the void and the other attempting to reconcile with friends amongst the living. When resurrection efforts cause the two halves to meet again, they must find a way to co-operate if they're to get what they both want.
Relationships: Wilbur Soot & Phil Watson
Kudos: 8





	Unequal Halves of the Same Whole

It's only the two of them in this small room. It feels even tinier now that he's blocked the entrance to prevent anyone else coming other than Phil. The silly thing is this wall before him, the one with the button he's determined to press yet even now still has slight doubts about actually going through with doing so, it's not remarkably thick. It's not like there's multiple layers of stone between himself, Phil and the rest of the world. He's technically a stone block's width away from the whistling explosives. The others are fighting, he comments to the air. L'Manburg will have to concern itself with a force more destructive than some mere fireworks in a matter of minutes. If he does indeed detonate the nation he helped found. Phil seems determined to prevent that. But, then again, Phil doesn't know that Wilbur has cursed himself with a Chekov's gun, one that by its nature can't be left on display forever.

When he mentions not even knowing if the button is rigged, the blond man laughs. Did he really want to take that risk? Well... As for there potentially being a lot of TNT connected to the device, yes that's the point. Regardless, it's clear Phil is in denial that Wilbur is absolutely ready to do this. His loss. The moment is ripe. It's best if he takes advantage of it.

"Phil..." Now or never. "There was a saying, Phil, by a traitor once part of L'Manburg. A traitor I don't know if you've heard of. Eret?"  
"Yeah." Phil's expression is wary and rightly so. He'd be concerned if it wasn't, honestly.  
"He had a saying, Phil."

These six words have stuck with him for months. Since... the beginning of August, it must have been. Ever since, he's never truly known whether to take people's words at face value. He'd made the mistake of trusting Eret and cost his loved ones a life. Who could tell if another one of his 'friends' was plotting his demise behind his back. Best to eradicate the plague that is L'Manburg with everything that made it so before they get a chance to reveal their true loyalties. Perhaps he's doing them a favour, betraying the lost cause in their stead. Either way, it is time for the words that will end up haunting the man who raised him since he was six. He almost wants to be sorry for bestowing the burden of them onto a new victim. However, he's so caught up in the moment, so thrilled to be at the point his goal is finally coming to completion after all these weeks, that he directs his energy to not truly smiling as he utters the infamous phrase. It does nothing to hide the pride in his voice that the time for his grand finale has finally come.

"It was never meant to be."

There is a satisfying click as the button accepts the pressure exerted on it. In that second before the world reacts to what he has done, he regrets letting Phil see this. He's close enough to the wall that he predicts the force of the explosion will find its way to him. Debris too if he's not already dead. It won't be pleasant to witness. But well... Phil made the decision to confront him directly and neither of them can change this situation now. He goes out saluting with eyes shut tight.

Or at least, he would have if he wasn't knocked to the ground by a force not in allegiance with the TNT. Phil is pushing himself off from where he'd been laying on top of him when he opens his eyes. The wings are ruined. Wilbur wouldn't be surprised if he learned the older man has permanently grounded himself with that sacrificial act. One way or another, they are both alive. The damage has been done to the land before them as well as themselves. Ash rains down upon Wilbur as he rises to his feet to observe the consequences of his actions. Phil's eyes are full of horror and agony as he does the same from where he remains sitting. 

"My L'Manburg, Phil!" He throws his arms out. "My unfinished symphony, forever unfinished! If I can't have this, Phil, no-one can."  
"Oh my god..." The older of the two mutters in disbelief.  
"Kill me, Phil, kill me." He unsheathes the sword that had been situated by his side, tossing it towards the man he's appointed his executioner. "Phil, stab me with the sword. Murder me now. Kill me. Killza. Killza! Do it. Kill me, Phil, murder me. Look, they all want you to. Do it, Phil, kill me."  
"Y- You're my son!" He cries back, getting to his feet.

And oh, that's caused him to be taken aback for a second. His... son? Well, he supposes neither he nor Phil were immune to the feelings that can naturally arise in arrangements such as theirs. Phil had been friends with his mother before her death. As such, he had felt obliged to care for her young son whom he's supposedly viewed in a fond light. The stories went that Wilbur had liked him back in turn. Of course, any and all attachment had waned on Wilbur's part as he aged into a teenager left to raise another parentless boy while Phil travelled with a piglin the same age as his 'son'. Son? Please. Phil had a funny way of showing it in that case. His standards for a father had been low but 'forcing a kid to become independent years before their time then randomly appearing out of the blue to talk them down from mass destruction and saving said child's life' still didn't reach the mark. If Phil wants to prove he's on his side, there remains one thing he can do for him.

"Phil, kill me." He requests for the thousandth time.   
"No matter what you do, no matter what you pull, I can't-"  
"Look. Look! How much work went into this and it's gone. Do it." He challenges once more. "Do it."

At this, Phil relents. A slash is made with another swiftly following it. Blood begins to flow and he's glad he doesn't give a shit about this outfit. Not that it even matters since he won't see dusk tonight. He drops, head smacking against the floor. And holy shit, is that what fire aspect feels like? He suddenly gains a profound understanding of why animals slain with these types of swords provide meat edible upon the moment of slaughter. He'd understood it in theory obviously but fuck, he wants to apologize to any creature whose throat he's aimed that sword at. He wonders whether he'd perceive someone pouring lava into the wound as a punishment or a distraction. He breathes through it. He won't cry, not in his final minutes and certainly not in front of Phil.

Phil himself doesn't seem to have the same resolve to remain composed. The sword has left his grasp, having clattered to the floor. He is knelt, folding in on himself slightly with palms pressing into his eyes, and lets out a pained groan. It sounds like a mix of grief and acknowledgement of the agony his destroyed wings must be putting him in. Phil's heads lifts and their eyes meet. With some newfound determination, he gets up and lifts Wilbur's torso so he's leaning against him in a semblance of a sitting position. He subsequently moves the young man he supposedly considers a son to have his back against the wall.

"Fuck, you couldn't just let- you couldn't just win? You had to just throw your toys out the pram." Hands are on his shoulders to steady him. Phil's frustration goes ignored.  
"Phil, you know when Dream- well, I guess you don't know but Dream said earlier that there was no traitor. He said earlier- he said 'hey, do you know what? There's no traitor', he said to me. And you know what?" Wilbur weakly chuckles. "He fucking lied. He lied. Phil, it's Technoblade. Phil, it's Technoblade."  
"Oh my god. The most powerful person on the server is the traitor?"  
"Phil-" He catches the attention of the man who is desperately trying to locate where the piglin may be outside. Phil's gaze snaps right back to him. Wilbur continues his warning with a bloodied grin. "And he has 8 withers ready to go."  
"Oh my god, I need to get out of here." True to his word, Phil glances back at the sealed entrance then the massive hole that used to be a wall. Calculation made, he descends down the rubble to the battle brewing below.  
"Go as fast as you can, Phil. Go see them, go on. Bye-bye. Bye-bye, Phil." With no-one to hear him anymore, he sighs and mutters to himself. "We won. It's over."

He's not entirely sure what Dream was on about earlier in regards to there apparently being no traitors. Of course there were traitors. It was Wilbur and Technoblade, the man who had been planning to detonate an abundance of TNT for weeks and the man who had been gathering wither heads for anarchistic purposes. Honestly, who else would it be? Speaking of the TNT, as he overlooks the destruction, he doubts all of it has gone off... perhaps only half of it. It doesn't matter. The deed is done.

Though he's miraculously managed to maintain conversation, the effects of the sword are increasingly taking hold. Bleeding out isn't the most pleasant thing to endure even without the enchantment wreaking havoc on his nervous system. Although, he's certainly no stranger to this kind of death by now. Punz had stabbed him and left him for dead in the Final Control Room. The same man's arrow found his chest while Wilbur and Tommy were escaping L'Manburg upon being exiled. Had the arrow not struck vital organs and stolen his second life quickly, it likely would have caused him a similar fate as his first and now current deaths without appropriate medical attention. Still, being the man of the arts and politics he once wanted to liken himself to, he could appreciate a good leitmotif.

He can spot a wither or two in the sky. He supposes if he checked the communicator on his wrist, he'd see several user status updates regarding this development. Good, let Techno have his time to shine. It's an interesting last view, the rubble he's created, but he can't help feel a sense of pride. This has been his goal for so long and despite the delay of a month, it's finally over.

"Tubbo, you are president of a crater." He says with delight. "Enjoy."

Shortly thereafter, death at last envelops him.

Phil does not come back to the room where the body of the boy he raised lays. Perhaps it is due to him becoming preoccupied by the withers and subsequent aftermath, maybe he cannot force himself to witness the end result of him fulfilling his son's final request. Regardless of the reason, the fact of the matter is that what physically remains of Wilbur Soot will be there tomorrow when Tubbo traverses the rubble along with Fundy and Quackity in an effort to begin rebuilding the nation following the events of the previous day. The president of L'Manburg will state that his predecessor should be left there to rot, promptly constructing a new wall to officially seal him in his tomb. The path his actions have led him down had to end eventually. If he thought about it too much, it almost seemed inevitable that by travelling down it, he would arrive at this room, to where he was to breathe his last, to his consequential final resting place.

But that is to come and it is only his physical destiny. Every other aspect of him finds itself in darkness. There is nothing. And in the nothingness, there is only him. It is the outskirts of a black hole's event horizon, ready to scatter his atoms when time itself comes to an end. It is a sensory deprivation room in the heart of a city bustling with noisy activity, overloaded with an infinite variety of colours and aromas, though you would forever be none the wiser. It is the expanse of space with any and all celestial bodies too far to detect with your exposed being. The void accepts him as its latest inhabitant.

In the abyss that follows his demise, silence is shattered.

"What are you doing?"  
"This isn't right. I want to go back."  
"This is what we wanted. It's over now. We don't have to carry on."  
"There must be another way."  
"But we're dead. There is no reversing that. There is no 'other way' either."  
"What if we started over though? What if we came back somehow without the paranoia and mistrust. Someone must have cared about us, right?"  
"You're talking about changing who we were."  
"I'm talking about reverting back to a happier version of ourselves. We've done the whole 'bad guy' thing. Why don't we be the good guy again? We won't have to worry about being betrayed if everyone likes us."  
"...I don't think I appreciate your line of thinking."  
"I think my reasoning is sound."  
"This is crazy! We can't just show up like nothing happened. We blew up the country. We said it ourselves, if Phil didn't do it, somebody else probably would have put their sword through us."  
"We'll never know if we don't try."  
"Stop it!"  
"No. I'm doing this for our own good."  
"But I don't believe it will be beneficial. If you would just listen to me-"  
"If you're so content with how horribly things ended then here you go. You keep all these memories. Wallow in them. I definitely won't be needing them."  
"Wait-"  
"Meanwhile, I'm going to give us the second chance we deserve. And I'm going to do so back down there with a clean slate."  
"Don't do this. Please."  
"I'd rather take amnesia over missing this chance."

Yellow burns in their line of sight, highlighted by the lack of colour. An additional arm forms. Another joins it as do two extra legs. Rapidly, one entity separates into a near identical pair. One pulls away as their twin uses both hands to pull an arm back towards them. They struggle like this momentarily before the rejecter shoves his counterpart away, causing himself to fall further and further from any continued attempts to stop him. 

The first is left in a wealth of misery, hatred and anxiety upon the split commencing. Anything they ever fondly cherished, even if they hadn't acknowledged it recently, is ripped from them. Memories of childhood, of playing music, of accomplishments worthy of pride are left negated in the aftermath. If the Grinch's heart grew three sizes upon accepting love once more, then this half's heart was currently shrivelling to a third of its typical capacity. Resentment fills them as their twin tumbles to the world below.

The second is overcome by joy, excitement and hope as the transfer is made. Gone are the pain, the regret and the sorrow. They are free to go about their existence without a care in the world. Like a foreign object burning upon contact with the atmosphere as it tumbles, everything unnecessary disintegrates. In the fire, they are cleansed. They are able to float and avoid their feet needing to touch the ground with the absence of all that undesirable weight. The closer their new attempt at life approaches, the more they feeling as if they are flying towards it. Who cares about the other half they are leaving behind? He can take care of himself. Besides, he's been in the reins for too long.

A ghost wearing a yellow jumper appears in the room where his originator succumbed to exsanguination hours beforehand. A body wearing a brown trenchcoat with red staining his shirt and fingerless gloves overlooks the surrounding ruins. Or, at least, he would be were his eyes not closed. However, it goes without saying it is disturbing to see your own corpse right in front of you, to look at your own face and know there is no life to be found upon it. So he escapes in the same direction a blond man had done earlier. Night has fallen but he knows that come morning, he will have plenty of opportunities to reunite with friends under his new name of... Ghostbur. Yeah, he wants to be called Ghostbur. Wilbur was someone else entirely so why not adopt a second identity to mark his second chance at life.

It is the first memory that is solely his own and he promptly forgets it.


End file.
